Mickey bounded up the stairs and swung wide his door. Again the awful heat hit him in the face. He swallowed a mouthful, hastily shutting the door. "It's hard on Lily," was his mental comment, "but I guess I'll just save that for Mr. and Mrs. Peter. I think a few gulps of it will do them good; it will show them better than talking why, once she's out of it, she shouldn't come back 'til cold weather at least, if at all. Yes I guess!"
"Most baked honey?" he asked, taking her hot hands.
"Mickey, 'tain't near six," she panted.
"No it's two hours early," said Mickey. "But you know Flowersy-girl, I'm going to take care of you. It's getting too hot for you. Don't you remember what I told you last night?"
"'Bout laying on the grass an' the clover flowers?"
"Exactly yes!" said Mickey. "'Fore we melt let's roll up in this sheet and go, Lily! What do you say?"
"Has—has the red-berry folks come?" she cried.
"They're downstairs, Lily. They're waiting."
Peaches began climbing into his arms.
"Mickey, Mickey-lovest, hold me tight," she panted. "Mickey, I'm scairt just God-damned!"